


In Which the Barter System Proves to be Better Than Capitalism

by misha_collins_butt



Series: Wincest/Weecest [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Job, First Time, M/M, PWP, mild incest kink, porn without plot/plot what plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-09
Updated: 2020-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:21:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22186273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_collins_butt/pseuds/misha_collins_butt
Summary: The one where Sam sucks his brother's dick for the keys to the Impala
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester, Weecest - Relationship, Wincest
Series: Wincest/Weecest [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1597030
Comments: 3
Kudos: 120





	In Which the Barter System Proves to be Better Than Capitalism

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I've posted this pairing, and I'd like to reiterate that I very much DO NOT condone this dynamic irl and there are literally no other shows or situations in which I'd ship an incestuous pairing. I'm of the belief that this is an incredibly specific set of circumstances: Sam and Dean spend all their time together, they grow up being basically forced into a codependent relationship, they're always on the move and never in one place for long enough to form real relationships with outside entities, and of course they're fictional and they're cisgender men so unless there's mpreg (which I'm not a personal fan of, but to each their own), an incest baby is out of the question. But again, these are VERY specific circumstances and if it weren't the way it is, I wouldn't ship it. But as is, I mean...I'm a chaotic multishipper and I won't be stopped
> 
> xoxo

At sixteen, everyone, not least of whom Dean, expects Sam to have things to do and places to go. And who can blame him for wanting to make friends and be a normal kid and go have fun on the town? He's been cramped up with his brother and dad in whatever the weekly or monthly living space is since before he was even a year old. It's the only thing he knows - no privacy, no secrets, and no alone time.

So it's not surprising when, the moment John leaves town, Sam is asking Dean to drive him somewhere to hang out with some friends. And Dean totally would. There's just one problem.

"I'm sorry, Sammy, I can't leave here," he explains, folding a pair of jeans and setting them on his pile of clothing. As he picks up the next garment (one of Sam's), he adds, "Dad wants me to keep an eye on one of the weird news stories that keeps cropping up in this town."

"Well, wouldn't it be easier to do that from, I don't know,  _ outside _ the motel room?" Sam points out, giving him a mildly concerned look, like Dean has forgotten how hunting works.

"It would be," Dean stacks the apparel on top of his 'Sam' pile, then turns to look at him with raised brows. "If the weird things were happening in town and not at this motel." Sam eyes widen momentarily and then switch to the floor, face hot, as he realises why John had told Dean to stay at the motel as much as possible. Leaning against the bed, Dean asks, "Why did you think we spent so long making sure all our weapons and shit were hidden away? We gotta look like we're just normal vacationers, man. Thought we talked about this."

"No, you talked. I pretended to listen while you followed me around," Sam corrects, walking toward the dresser. "So, if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way."

Dean doesn't quite process what his brother is doing until he hears the metallic jingle of the keys to the Impala as Sam snatches them up from the squat bureau and starts toward the door.

"Woah, hang on now," he scrabbles to throw down the shirt he's holding and catch up with Sam, skidding to a stop in front of him just before he reaches the door. Dean yanks the keys from Sam's hand and stares at him with as much intimidating energy as he can muster, given the fact that Sam is exactly the same height as him at this point. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like?" Sam shoots back sarcastically and makes a grab for the keys but Dean holds them out of reach, earning him a level three bitchface. "Seriously? Dean? I'm not playing this game. Let me go."

"Did I say you could take her? Because, frankly, Sammy, I don't recall saying you could take her," Dean argues, putting on a sweet face and a sweeter drawl. "So paws off."

Sam stares him down, seemingly bored by the entire interaction, before slowly saying, "Fine, then. I'll just have to call everyone and tell them since I can't come to them, that they have to come here and hang out with me in a shitty motel room with my stupid brother."

Dean was not keen on the idea of Sam throwing a party with all his little high school friends in this teeny room, namely due to the very strong possibility that John wouldn't be getting the deposit back, and Sam would not be the one getting reamed for it. John would have Dean's ass on a plaque if this place got ruined. And Dean isn't entirely confident that Sam's just bluffing.

So instead of denying him again, Dean lifts a brow and quizzes, "What're you gonna give me for 'em?"

Sam scoffs, starts shaking his head, but then stops, mouth open a bit like he does when he's thinking, and his eyes rake over Dean's pyjama clad body. His gaze turns wicked when it lands back on Dean's face, pupils bigger than the moon, and an inexplicable shiver makes goosebumps burst up from the small of Dean's back, like fingers scraping up his spine.

For a long moment, every sound in the room dies away and leaves them in some strange vacuum between just the two of them where everything around them is muffled and blurred. It all comes rushing back at Dean's senses when the sound of Sam's knees hitting the floor snaps him out of it, or maybe snaps the world out of whatever quietus trance it'd gone into.

But Dean just trades one form of frozen shock for another when his eyes fall on Sam's hands hesitantly rubbing up the front of his big brother's thighs. That motion doesn't break Dean's daze, nor does Sam's fingers hooking under the waistband of his pyjama pants, nor does Sam tugging the fabric down and biting his lip at the bulge of Dean's flaccid cock. What does finally fling him back to reality, however, is the way said cock gives an interested twitch when it realises what Sam is doing. And as much as Dean loves letting his dick lead him around sometimes, this is not the same. This is...this is...holy fuck, this is hot. How did Dean never notice how pretty Sam is from this angle, all thick curtains of hair and long lashes and sparkly eyes and pink lips? 

_ What? No, that's not right. Is it?...No! What the fuck is wrong with-- _

Dean clamps down on Sam's wrist before the younger boy can slide his boxer briefs down, and chokes out, "Sammy, what the hell're you doin'?"

He means to sound commanding, but his voice is little more than a strained shadow behind resistant teeth.

"What's it look like?" And this time the question sultry, and not at all how you're supposed to be talking to your own brother-- Jesus Christ, this is Dean's  _ little brother _ ! What the fuck is he thinking?! Sam runs his tongue along his lips and Dean's eyes follow the motion, though he begs them not to. "You asked me what I was gonna do for the keys. Remember?"

And, yes, of course Dean remembers that. But this is so NOT what he had in mind when he'd asked.

"I..." he tries to express exactly that, but it catches in his throat. "I-you...you can't...we..."

"What? What is it, De?" Sam feigns such innocence that Dean almost considers maybe he has wildly misinterpreted this situation. But then Sam's fingertip slips just inside the elastic band of his briefs and he leans in so close, his lips are almost touching Dean's rapidly filling member through the fabric. "Don't want your baby brother to suck you off? 'Cos you're scared we'll get caught? 'Cos it's wrong and bad and we shouldn't?" As he speaks, Sam starts tracing the outline of Dean's now solid erection, and all Dean can do is hold himself up against the door (and when had he backed into the door?) and gawk in horrified desire (mostly desire) as his little brother, his little Sammy, makes himself look like the prettiest cockslut for miles. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you don't want this. Dean, say out loud, to my face, that you don't want me to make you come with my mouth. Because I think you do. I think you know you do."

How could Dean argue with the truth? Simultaneously, how could he admit the truth when the truth is so far beyond fucked up?

So instead, he gives no answer and continues doing nothing to stop Sam from mouthing hungrily at the throbbing shaft trapped under grey cotton. Just as that grey cotton is starting to turn black with spit, Sam slides his hands up, wrist escaping from Dean's fingers effortlessly, and pulls the briefs down to Dean's thighs where his pants still sit.

An involuntary moan jumps forth from Dean's mouth as his dick springs free, straining towards Sam's parted lips, through which slips a similar satisfied noise.

Sam wastes no time nuzzling into the base where Dean just yesterday trimmed his nest of hair. With frightening expertise, Sam drags the tip of his tongue up along the fat vein of the underside, pausing at the notch just below the crown to flatten his tongue out and press an open-mouthed kiss there. Dean gasps, head hanging back against the door now, and eyes fluttering closed. He restrains himself from touching Sam in any way. In his mind, if he just lets it run its course but doesn't actively participate, it doesn't count as the ickynastygross word he is staunchly avoiding thinking about. And if he happens to come in the process and maybe even enjoy it a little (okay, way more than he should), well, that's not his fault. He can't control his blood flow or nerve endings.

While Dean resolutely Does Not Think About It, Sam dips his tongue into the slit and sighs at the taste of pre-come already dribbling from it. He apparently decides he needs to stay there for a while, using little kitten licks to bring Dean to the brink.

Just as Dean thinks he might blow just from Sam's tongue in his opening, his little brother fits plumped lips over the head and suckles for a second before sinking himself down over the length. In the wet heat, Dean feels himself twitching, and his hitching breaths start coming in wheezes. He's quickly losing his mind to the slobbering cavern of his brother's skilled mouth. Sam takes him all the way to the back of his throat, where the muscles graze over the firm cockhead as Sam swallows. Then, deftly bobbing his head, Sam starts up a torturous rhythm, happily humming around the intrusion.

He seems to be in some sort of world of his own as he blows his big brother with enthusiasm, obscene slurping and all.

Dean feels himself sprinting toward climax, heaving moans and crackling noises he didn't know he could make as he continues to grip the decorative wall next to the door with one hand, and the doorknob with the other. He's loving the slick slide of his brother's mouth, so he tries not to think about the fact that it's  _ his brother's mouth _ . And, of course, fails miserably.

In fact, he realises with nauseating alarm, knowing that it's his little Sammy's lips wrapped around his cock seems to make it better. But as his mild disgust with himself grows, so does his orgasm, pressing at the base of his dick and tightening his balls up against his body.

He manages to rasp out half a warning, "Sammy, gon--" before he's violently coming directly down Sam's throat and sucking in a desperate breath as every muscle in his body seizes up. 

It feels like it lasts far longer than it ever has before, and Dean attributes that to this entire thing being insanely wrong, but once he's lax against the door, Sam is pulling off him with cum dripping from his chin and standing swiftly to take the keys from Dean's hand where they'd been clutched so hard, they were nearly warped out of shape.

Sam wipes his mouth with the back of his wrist, effectively smearing the leftover cum across his sweater sleeve, and tilts in to leave a sweet, virtuous peck on Dean's lips.

"Thanks, Dean. Knew you'd come around," he whispers smugly, and then he's opening the door, which shoves Dean forward and makes him stumble toward the bed.

Sam disappears into the late morning like dust in the breeze, and Dean is left with his pants down, wondering what the hell he's supposed to do now.


End file.
